The weather forecast for this week in Devon was miserable: rain every day, and barely a hint of sunshine. It looked so dispiriting that I nearly sacked all my plans. But then I thought, how nice to spend some time with Emma, and what a lovely chance to spend time with my latest godson: so bugger the weather.
And thank goodness neither of us was swayed by the forecast, for both Monday and Tuesday were blissfully hot, with barely a cloud scudding around, and it’s only today, Wednesday, that the skies have been grey and the driving rain has obscured the blissful view of the sea from the living room windows.
Still, it could have been 90 in the shade today and I would not have cared, as I began to feel wonky donkey mid afternoon on Tuesday. (Although I still managed an ice cream on the beach.)
By early evening something was Not Quite Right, and I retired to my bedchamber to have a lie down. Not for long, as my body soon decided to violently eject everything I’d eaten from, ahem, both ends. Oh the utter, utter delight of projectile vomiting.
So today has been spent prone, as I vaguely prodded at the internets on my tablet, and felt sorry for myself. If I’m going to have a fast day, then let it be on the 5:2 diet, not because I feel terrid.(That’s a cross between horrid and terrible, in case you were wondering.) Emma is absolutely fine, as are the children, and we have all eaten exactly the same things, so I guess it’s just a 24hr sick bug.
It’s been doubly annoying as two other friends, completely coincidentally are holidaying in the next village over. But I don;t think their house of infant-age would have appreciated my lurgy.